


you're crazy, i'm out of my mind

by loumymind



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: A lot of cursing, Alternate Universe, Famous Harry, M/M, Non-Famous Louis, Poet Louis, Sassy Louis, brief mentions of sex, closet Harry, lesbian Eleanor, like a lot, very bitter popstar Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2014-08-27
Packaged: 2018-02-15 01:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2210085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loumymind/pseuds/loumymind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Styles is a teen sensation with a squeaky clean image. Harry Styles is a brand, a paycheck. Groomed and packaged to be exactly what will sell, coached and tweaked to perfection. Harry is a lost kid looking to find his own voice, sing his own songs. Except he kind of sucks at writing songs. </p>
<p>Louis is a cheeky spoken word poet known for his eloquent metaphors and amazing ability to not give a fuck what anyone thinks. </p>
<p>Harry is looking for some inspiration for his songs and Louis is looking for someone to love him. Maybe they're the perfect team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're crazy, i'm out of my mind

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer,  
> This is all fictional, I do not own any of the characters, and some of the songs/poems used in this story. All the credit goes to the amazing people who have written this. I did write Louis’ poems, which I do not claim to be good at unfortunately. For story purposes, just pretend they are good... 
> 
> This is obviously all fictional, duh. And I'd just like to point out that I happen to love Best Song Ever, and all their other songs, it's just for story purposes. :)

It was a general rule of his not to raise his voice or shout at anyone. Call it good manners or smart thinking, but Harry Styles was well aware that snappy comments and cuss words would not help get his point across. It would only get him accused of being a diva -  _ example, Justin Bieber _ .  It especially wouldn't get him anywhere while sitting at end of the large table his management team assembled around when there was something 'important' to figure out. He knew all of this and logically it made sense. But he was angry so screw logic. Screw it all. 

 

            " _ And her daddy was a dentist _ ? What the hell - where are the bloody songs that I wrote? These aren't my songs!" He demanded, one fist clenching around the edge of the table as the other crumpled the sheet music. He had spent months working out all the lyrics and music, ecstatic to finally be able to sing his own songs - his own  _ words .  _

 

              There was a slight grimace on the face of Arnie, the head of his team. Arnie was basically in charge of making sure everyone else bottled Harry up into the perfect package for him to sell to millions. Harry wasn't bitter, he wasn't. 

 

              "Look, Harry," he sighed while twirling a pen through his fingers. "We considered your songs - we really tried to make them work but they just... They lacked depth? I don't know what to tell you," he shrugged and Harry used every small scrap of logic he could muster to not lunge at him over the table. "Your songs, they sucked, kid." 

 

            The words were like a punch straight to the gut, causing his breathing to go ragged and his head to swarm with dizziness. His knuckles were now turning white from how tight his grip was and his teeth were sinking into his lower lip forcefully. It was a moment before he calmed himself enough to speak, though his body remained rigid and tight. "Lacked  _ depth _ ?" He squeaked, willing himself not to let fat angry tears pour down his cheeks. He was sick of them treating him like a child - and crying wouldn't help that any. "And you call these lyrics fucking deep?  _ And her daddy was a dentist _ ?  What does that even mean?" 

 

              Arnie simply rolled his eyes and the rest of the table looked quite uninterested in his tiny meltdown. Fuck them, fuck them all. Harry basically provided their paychecks. 

 

             "The song is literally called the  _ Best Song Ever _ .  Could no one come up with something better? Don't tell me my songs sucked when you're handing me this bloody nonsense!" 

 

             Arnie had the same exhausted look now, the one he always did when Harry voiced any sort of opinion that didn't coincide with his plans. Harry had learnt that the face really meant it was set it stone and now Arnie had to to through the trivials of explaining that to him. He had let it slide too many times before, but now he was putting his foot down. 

 

             "They're not deep," he allowed while straightening his argyle tie. Harry didn't think he should trust anyone who would wear that stupid tie. "But it's what your fans want, this so called nonsense  _ sells _ . You know that better than anyone else - is that not a new Mustang you rolled up in? This music is what's made you the sensation you are, Harry."

 

             He didn't respond, just simply averted his gaze to the window and scanned the cityscape, trying to regroup himself. It wasn't anything new but it always bristled him when they threw his earnings back into his face - hanging it over his head like  _ look at what we did for you. Look at what we turned you into . _ Like it was all their doing - not his talent or hard word or charm. He was just a puppet who could sing to them, a popstar prepackaged to put on display. 

 

             But Harry was sick of it, so fucking sick of it. He just wanted to be himself for once. And really, was that so much to ask?

 

              "So you weren't ever going to let me sing my songs? Just gave me some blind hope so I could work my bloody ass of writing? And then tell me that I had to sing your crap after all?" His voice was slow, words murmured as he hung his head down, eyes trained on dripping condensation of his glass. 

 

            Arnie let out a long, heavy sigh and when Harry looked up he recognized some sort of redeemable quality in his face. Regret, maybe? Or perhaps it was pity. Harry surely didn't want anyone's pity. "Look, that's not it. When we gave you the opportunity to write your music, we were hoping it would work out. And I get it, Harry. You want to mature your sound and shed the squeaky clean image - it's what every teen star wants. I've watched them try and I've watched them fall flat on their face. However, I actually believe you have the talent and drive to do it. To pull a Timberlake, as we call it." He paused then, pursing his lips thoughtfully. Harry swallowed hard as he kept watching him. "But you have to do it strategically. You can't just run out there with a new sound and expect everyone to just take you seriously. You certainly can't do it with these songs - you'll automatically be dismissed as someone who can only produce cookie cutter." 

 

             Harry mulled over his monologue, fingers twisting nervously in his nap. Everything he was saying made sense - Harry could fully see where he was coming from. He just didn't think they were giving his songs a fair chance - he put all he had into them and it was shattering to hear they weren't good enough. It brought him back to the fears that had racked him with nerves before his initial X Factor audition. If they people at the top of the business didn't think you were good enough - well, what were you supposed to do then? 

 

             "So, your solution is to put out another pop album with cheesy lyrics? I don't see how that's going to help me any," he argued, just for the sake of it really. He didn't want to let Arnie think he agreed with him at all. Harry wanted this album to be his own - something he could be proud to show the world. This was set to be his  _ third  _ album. The first Harry had been barely seventeen upon release. The songs fit his style and they were fun, as was the sudden attention from the fans. The second was just a year later, and had left Harry with a slightly more sour taste in his mouth, sick of singing songs about pretty girls and how much he loved them. But he was still young and taking in the fame, doing his first world tour and everything. 

 

            But it had now been nearly three years since he'd came second on the X Factor. His fan base was strong and the core was growing up with him. He truly believed they were all ready for a new sound. And he wanted to deliver - before they got bored and dismissed him. He wanted to finally be able to show the world  _ Harry _ , not the perfect doll they'd made him out to be. 

 

           "-keep you relevant and popular," Arnie was saying, just as Harry realized that he wasn't even listening. "That way when you do start to transition, we can do it with ease. So for that reason we need to have an album out by the end of the year, regardless of what songs we use." Arnie had this ridiculous matter of fact way of speaking, making everything he said sound crass and rude. It wasn't that Harry hated him, despite some major clashing opinions, he wasn't entirely bad. He knew what he was doing - handling Harry's career. And he knew exactly what their market wanted. 

 

           But Harry was just so sick of all the bigwigs sitting around the table staring at him like a paycheck. A paycheck who had to do exactly what he was told to optimize their earnings. He was bloody tired of feeling everyone else's success riding on his shoulders. He was done with their targeted market being anyone who would buy merchandise with his face splattered across it. Fed up listening to them tell him exactly how to act - what to say and who to be. 

 

            "How does that sound?" Arnie asked, raised eyebrows. 

 

            Harry had completely zoned out again. He cleared his throat. "Ehm, what was that?" He murmured and he could practically feel the frustrated gazes shooting daggers at him. 

 

             "I said we'll give you another shot," Arnie repeated. “Alright? If you can bring us something better than what you’ve given us... We’ll integrate a new style on to this album. But it’s still got to be released by the end of the year, with promotional singles before that. So in the meantime you need to start memorizing and perfecting  _ these _ songs, as a fall back.”

 

           Harry sat completely still, no movement except for the rapid fluttering of his eyes, blinking in amazement at Arnie. How on earth was he expected to write and record a whole other album by the end of the year? It had taken months of brainstorming and hard work to produce the first, and they had already shot that down as rubbish. “Can... I mean, can’t we push back the release at all? Give me a little more time, yeah? I... I know I can do it but that’s just a lot - I have to work out all the new music and....” 

 

            “The music isn’t the problem, kid. Hell, the music is great - it’s the lyrics. It’s not  _ time _ holding you back... you need to figure those out, or it’s pointless,” he said bluntly, as if this wasn’t Harry’s sanity hanging on the line. He had an earnest look on his face though, like he really did hope for the best. Harry appreciated even the small act of accommodation, but he still thought the task would be impossible. It was with a sinking in his gut that Harry realized he’d probably spend a whole nother year singing their songs, and consequently touring them. 

 

            “So, just figure out the words, yeah?” Arnie repeated.

 

           “Easier said than done,” he grumbled as he sank back further into his seat, defeat washing up over every inch of his body. 

 

            The rest of the meeting was spent discussing Harry’s life in great details - but ironically he really didn’t even need to be there for it. He half listened, half counted the ceiling tiles (even though he already knew there was two hundred and thirty six and a half tiles) as they talked about what he would wear to each event, what interviews he had coming up, where he had to be for when. They planned in great detail the next couple of months of Harry’s life, even though it was supposedly his ‘break’.

 

            He remained completely silent until he heard a mention of an up and coming Disney star, from some American television show he had never heard of. They said something about arranging the two of them being photographed together - on some sort of orchestrated date. 

 

             Harry simply let out a long groan of disapproval, as he always did. They simply restated (as they always did) that this arrangement would benefit both sides. She would get more publicity, especially with Harry’s huge fanbase. And well, it was always the same for Harry. Link him to as many pretty girls as possible and the world was bound to think he was a charming heterosexual hearthrob. Which was primarily what sold to his  ‘ _ target market ’ _ . Having his millions of young fans who lusted after him realize that he was completely unattainable to them would be career suicide. Or at least that’s what they kept spouting to him. 

 

              There were a lot of things about PR and the music business that bugged Harry - but this was without a doubt the worst. Completely hiding yourself from the world was daunting. He had been proudly out of the closet to his family when he auditioned for X Factor, he just hadn’t been ready to tell his friends or competitors yet. Had he realized that it would end up with him still locked into the closet three years later, he probably would have reconsidered right then and there. But he hadn’t. And he was under contract, so. Yeah. 

 

            The worst was knowing he could be using his popularity to make it easier for young teens struggling with their sexuality. An icon like him could do  _ wonders _ . But instead he was parading around female arm candy and feeding into societies ridiculous assumption that everyone is straight. 

 

             The meeting dragged on even after that brief distraction from his counting. Once he’d finished counting he began playing with a loose thread woven into the fabric armrest of his chair. He focused on all these small details rather on the fact that his life sometimes felt like it was crumbling around him, like an old pastry. Maybe he should have never left the bakery, he thinks. 

 

             Thankfully, it eventually ended. He remained seated, watching as they started to disassemble from the chairs surrounding him, pleased with all the decisions they had graciously made on his behalf. As they left, Harry sunk back deeper into the chair, his body relaxing. It felt like he could breathe again, without the added stress of wondering what curveball they’d throw at him next. 

 

            When he finally pushed himself up and turned to leave the room he realized someone was waiting behind for him - Alex? Anna? Something like that... He met so many people these days that he rarely fixated on their names. They usually had the same eager faces - ready to use his talent to somehow further their own careers. So excuse him for not remembering their names... 

 

           “What are you doing tonight, Harry?” She asked while hugging some file folders to her chest. She was pretty, most likely a couple of years older than him. But she was young and fresh faced too, hadn’t been around that long. He really didn’t know what her job was exactly, but she had to be important enough that she was contracted to keep his sexuality a secret. (God how sad was it that there were so many people who had signed for that? It made Harry see red.) 

 

            Harry ran a hand over his face, continuing up and raking it through his hair, causing it to stand upright. “I don’t know... Nothing, but look - Anna?” 

 

            “Amy,” she answered with a snort.

 

           “ _ Amy _ ,” he corrected with a slight grimace, but okay he was close. “I’m just not interested. You know I’m gay.” 

 

            She pressed her lips together tightly, pulling her smile into her mouth to hide it. “Right, I do. And did you know that I had a fiancee?” She smirked, twisting her left hand so that Harry caught sight of the sparkly diamond on her ring finger. 

 

            He felt like a complete and utter twat then - and the thing was, he’s usually so much more polite. She just happened to be caught in the crossfire of an awful day. “Wow, ehm, I’m sorry... I just... I’m sorry.” 

 

            “It’s okay, I get it.” She was smiling at him, and Harry decided that it was actually genuine. He liked her smile. “I was actually asking because - my cousin used to hang out at this poetry club. I went with him once and fell in love, been going ever since. And I was just thinking that maybe it’s exactly what you need to get your lyrical juices flowing. I think there’s a poet you definitely need to see, and he’s performing tonight.” 

 

            “A poetry club?” Harry echoed and she nodded in response. “I don’t know... Doesn’t really sound like my thing, to be honest.” He actually just wanted to go home, take a nice hot shower and curl up on the couch with ice cream and romantic comedies. Going out was the last thing he wanted to do - it was such a production now a days what with security and everything. 

 

             “Don’t say it like  _ that _ ,” Amy laughed with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. She was eyeing him carefully, making Harry slightly uncomfortable. There was a twinkle of something in her eyes, like she knew something he didn't. 

 

           "And how should I say it?" Harry asking, his tone edging on slightly impatient and irritated. This girl and this poetry club was really the only thing standing in his way. 

 

            "Like ' _ oh boy! A poetry club _ !'" She cheered with fake enthusiasm and a tiny fist pump. Harry couldn't help but let a smile crack onto his face despite himself. She caught that and gave a satisfied smirk. "Seriously, Harry," she said. "I think it'll be good for you - and your writing, of course. If you don't like it then I'll take you home right away." 

 

*****

 

Harry wasn't really even sure how she'd managed to do it, but somehow Harry was crammed into the passenger seat of Amy's tiny car, his too long legs bent upwards to fit. He was dressed with a beanie pulled down over his head, large black hoodie, ripped skinny jeans and sunglasses. 

 

            "Think that maybe the sunglasses are a bit much?" Amy commented dryly as she took a sharp turn, causing Harry's knees to knock against the dash painfully. 

 

            Harry ignored her comment and fired back one of his own. "What's up with your car? I mean, you work for Modest... As far as I know my talent pays well." He realized as soon as they words fall from his mouth that  _ okay _ ,  maybe that was a little rude and intrusive? Also possibly borderline bitter - which wasn't fair when Amy was trying to help him. He really was a nice guy, she had really just approached him on the  _ wrong  _ day. 

 

             "Your talent pays well?" She snickered while switching her gaze from the road to his face, one eyebrow arched slightly in a way that Harry never seemed to be able to master. "Everyone on your team also has a talent - hence the need for their big paycheck. But I'm actually just an intern who happened to luck into your presence." Her tone was light and just teasing but Harry still couldn't help but grimacing. 

 

              "Oh. Sorry." Harry fumbled with the strap of his seatbelt, gazing out the window. 

 

              "Anyway, it's my fiancées car. My Benz is in the shop." 

 

              Harry gave her an inquiring look. 

 

              She rolled her eyes with a grin. "Never said it wasn't a  _ paid  _ internship. Now lose the glasses, trust me, no one is even going to care about who you are tonight. Not when they've got Louis Tomlinson to marvel over, at least." 

 

             Harry reluctantly rose his hand and pulled off the oversized glasses, blinking to adjust to the switch in brightness. He somehow doubted what she said, he'd never heard of this so called  _ Louis  _ bloke, and Harry was set to embark on his fucking world stadium tour next year - so excuse him for being worried about going noticed in London. Amy would regret this when there were hundreds of screaming girls lined outside the streets and cameras flashing in their faces as they tried to leave the place. Harry wasn't in the mood to deal with any of it tonight, but he'd let it go just so he could rub it in her face later. 

 

               The rest of the drive remained silent, which was fine by Harry. His life was spent constantly surrounded by people talking to him and asking him questions and demanding things of him. Silence, well, silence could be lovely sometimes. In the silence he wondered if this Louis was Amy's fiancée, and perhaps that's why so he so high on him. He tried to picture the type of guy she'd be engaged too - also dubbing him the Louis that everyone would be marveling over. 

 

              Tall with a buzz cut, probably. Lean muscles and strong jaw, brown eyes. Quiet, thoughtful, too. He was a poet, after all. Wearing loose bootcut jeans and a t-shirt. Harry pictured him, like drawing the image on paper, detailing it as he went. Eventually he had conjured up a notion of someone he was attracted to, a leading man of sorts. He was even jealous that Amy got to have a person like that to love her, and Harry never. 

 

              He told himself he was being ridiculous while picking a hang nail. Love wasn't even something Harry was searching for. Love wasn't something he was allowed to have. 

 

              "You know," Amy said suddenly, breaking him from his far off thoughts. "You're a lot more charming in your interviews." 

 

               She was still teasing but the comment bristled him a little, causing him to sit up straighter, straightening out his frown. "S'that right?" He mumbled, trying to match her light tone. "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to judge a person by their media persona?" He questioned as his thumb smoothed over the spot on his wrist that contained the  _ I can't change _ tattoo. 

 

               "Cheeky." The car came to a stop and she shut it off, turning to him in the process. "I would never dream of judging you by your media persona - you're no skirt chaser, I know that. But you love what you do, Harry, I can see it on your face when you perform or talk to your fans. I don't think you're acting in those moments, I think being the charmer comes natural to you." 

 

                Harry pressed his lips together tightly to stop his oncoming smile. He gave one simple nod. "Maybe you've just caught me on a bad day," he allowed. 

 

                "Hm, well let's see if we can make that day just a little bit better, yeah?" She unhooked her seatbelt and watched him expectantly, smiling brightly when he did the same. "There's a good boy," she chuckled. "Come on, love." 

 

                Harry pulled his collar tighter around his face, adjusted the beanie that kept his unruly hair clamped sweaty against his head. With a nervous roll of his stomach he followed her through the parking lot, trying not to make eye contact with anyone, while not looking suspicious at the same time. This Louis character better be as big of a deal as she said. 

 

_ The  _ Brixton Poetry Club  \- or "B ixt n Poetry Clu" from their half illuminated sign - was like a mixture between a dingy cafe and old bar, with a big stage right in the center. Harry walked through the door, ducking his head slightly just in case he might be noticed. He was glad he did, or else he might have tripped up on the half missing floorboard. Even while looking down at it he half stumbles, because he has zero coordination, and Amy laughs when he bumps her. 

 

               "Forgot to tell you about that, sorry mate." 

 

               "S'alright," he mumbled and then cleared his throat. He really wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but this certainly was not it. There were clusters of tables, gathered in front of the stage, with people already sitting in them. All the lights are out - maybe Amy made a good call on the glasses, after all - except for a bright fluorescent one pointing to the stage, where a girl stands on it. 

 

                Amy nods her head in the direction of the nearest table, that luckily happens to be at the back, lodged sort of into a corner. They sit quietly, Harry lifts the chair so his legs don't noisily scrape against the floor. He doesn't want to be the rude one to interrupt this girls performance. 

 

                He doesn't really focus right away on the poetry, let's his eyes slide around the room, taking in all the details. From the slanted photo of a beach scene just above their table which feels completely out of place, to the lovely looking girl standing behind the bar, hushing someone who's trying to talk to her as she watches the poet with wide eyes. 

 

              Suddenly Harry heard the line " _ and fuck you for thinking fat is the opposite of beautiful _ ,"  The words immediately caught his attention and he looked at the girl on the stage. She was probably older than he was, but not by much. Her hair was long, red and curly. Her cheeks were rosy and she had a perfectly angular nose. She was beautiful, Harry reckoned. She was larger, too, probably hanging on the further end of plus sized. She's beautiful, though, and her words stuck out to him. Honest and true, full of depth and emotion. " _ That the two can't be synonymous, you are either one or the other - but you can't be both. Well guess what - my lover thinks I'm both. I think I am both. _ " 

 

The girl released her firm grip on the microphone, taking a step back, and Harry sadly realized he probably missed most of a really great poem. He just had this sudden urge to run up to that girl and ask for her to do it again. A man came up on stage then, wearing a shirt that said  _ Brixton _ and a buzz cut. Harry figured this was most definitely Louis. 

 

                "Everyone give one last round of applause for the amazingly talented Mary! She always knows how to bring the house down," the man - Louis? - said while clutching the mic. Mary gave a bright smile and a small wave before exiting the stage from the left. 

 

               "Mary is awesome," Amy said proudly, smiling like she knew this girl personally. She most likely did, Harry realized. "She's been coming here for a while, it's been great seeing her go from a shy girl who hated to be looked at, to a confident beautiful girl who can stand on that stage and tell all the assholes exactly what she thinks." 

 

              "I'd love to hear the full poem some time, it sounded lovely." 

 

              Amy smiled at him and nodded, eyes soft. "So, is the club so bad?" 

 

             Harry looked around with one last sweeping gaze. "Kind of dirty," he chuckled with a shrug. "But it seems like the type of place that could start to feel like home." 

 

             Amy's smile broadened and she nodded. "I've never seen someone get it quite so easily," she murmured. "Maybe it's because you're searching for a home. One that's not on wheels." She winked and Harry laughed while the words sunk in, deep into his skin. Where was his home? He always considered it Chesire but he hasn't been there in so long, not for more than a couple nights. He used to feel like he was home, curled into his small childhood bed, tucked securely in between the four walls that held him for the better part of his life. It would always be where he was rooted too, but it didn't feel like  _ home  _ now a days. London didn't, either. His house was lovely - huge with a large gym and pool. But it was large and lonely and even so he didn't spend enough time in it for his scent to cling to the furniture. Maybe Amy was right, the closest thing he had to a home was a tour bus bunk and sold out arenas. He never felt more himself on stage, but he needed something solid and secure to call his  _ home _ . It probably wouldn't be this tiny, dingy poetry club. But he understood it's worth to Amy. He really, really did. 

 

             He opened his mouth to tell her this but she simply shushed him, eyes turning to the stage.  _ Louis? _ with the _Brixton_ shirt and buzz cut was on stage again and he was saying something. Maybe that's why Amy cut him off, her fiancée was speaking. Seemed fair enough to Harry. 

 

            "And up next we have a very special poet, one we are surely happy to have home. It was a heck of a time without you, Louis, buddy,"  _ Louis?  _ \- who was not Louis at all - said with a huge grin directed off to the side. "Get on up here and wow us, baby."

 

             The larger gathering of a crowd start to clap and holler, Amy right along with them. Harry watched with intrigue, craning his neck in the direction  _ notLouis _ had been speaking, trying to catch a glimpse of this boy so worthy of attention that it would rival Harry's. He couldn't help but be completely interested. He also hoped the guy was really ugly.

 

                And then all of a sudden there was a boy on stage, having come from the other direction. The spotlight beamed down on him and Harry's jaw hung slack, eyes clinging to this marvelous human. He wasn't anything Harry had conjured up, opposite in almost every day. Louis was short, with skinny jeans and a tight tshirt clinging to the way his body curved. His fair was long and flowy, being pushed back from him running his fingers through it. And when he smiled Harry felt like the whole room was spinning. It was a cheek splitting smile that reached all the way up to his eyes, crinkling around them. 

 

            "Hello, everyone!" His voice was like silk, a slightly high pitch to it. Harry was glad he was going to be performing spoken poetry, he wanted to hear him talk more, stare at his golden skin and the way the light illuminated it. "It's been a hell of a couple months, as many of you know I've been traveling with some friends. But I'm back, my home will forever be the Brixton. And I'm excited to share some new poems with you... So, here goes." 

 

             He took a step back, looked down at his feet, his tongue darting out to smooth over his thin pink lips. Harry watched, studying every detail and line etched onto his face until he looked up and clutched the microphone. " _ She is a ticking time bomb of creativity - ideas and plans and dreams ripping her apart at the seams, _ " he began, voice so powerful that he hardly needed the mic to be heard. Especially since the entire room had grown silent, all eyes glued on him exactly as Harry's had been. " _ She's colors mixed together on canvas in an abstract way that makes it difficult to look away. She's freckled cheeks and crooked teeth lined with braces. She's summer dresses and painted toes, laughter echoing through my mornings. _ " 

 

Harry risked looking away from Louis for a second, eyes now on Amy and the way her entire face was lit up watching Louis. The poem was probably about her, he decided. He hated that the thought came with bitterness, hated the way his heart sunk a little at the very first  _ she _ . 

 

              " _ She's off key pop songs in the passenger seat, stories of things I really could care less about. She's a vision of beauty - all the angles of her cheeks and the soft spiral of her curls. She is blonde  with  brains. She is not simply pretty to look at - she is pretty to know. Pretty in the way she's treats people - with a kind loving heart. Pretty in the way she views the world, with big sparkling, inquisitive eyes _ ."  He paused, the corners of his lips turning up into the softest half smile. Harry had never seen something so perfect and simple. 

 

_ "She's a bubbly little girl... She's not a little girl anymore. She is no longer eight pounds, with chubby cheeks swaddled in pink while big brother stares down in amazement." _

 

               Harry blinked at his words, realizing that he was in fact talking about his sister. He wasn't sure why that made his entire body relax. 

 

                " _ She doesn't stumble around the living room, followed by secure arms ready to catch her. Or arms ready to soothe away her tears when they just couldn't quite reach her before the fall. She isn't dancing around the hallways in a tutu, holding big brothers hand or playing with dolls. She is no longer a little girl. Her legs have found the strength to stand up for themselves. She's independant and in her eyes big enough to take on the entire world _ ."  He paused again and Harry liked the effect of it, the way it gave you a chance to let the words sink in. This boy understood words, knew their rhythm and how they fit together like perfect puzzle pieces, making a string of sentences that weren't just letters, but something that moved you. Harry was in awe. 

 

_ "She's ready to fall in love - she reads about it in books and sees it in the movies. She’s got her arms spread wide ready to welcome the first boy with a cheeky smile who thinks she looks good in her jeans. Her time on the bus is spent day dreaming about her first kiss and how perfect it will be. She doesn’t think of it as noses that bump together or teeth that get in the way, hands that you just don’t quite know what to do with,”  Louis mimicked awkward hands at his side.  “She envisions it as fireworks exploding overhead. She’s sure ‘the one’ is lurking around the corner, ready to spring out and introduce himself as the love of her life. He may be around the next corridor or in the next classroom. He may stay for a few weeks or months, days that blur together, while he tells her he loves her and she believes it’s going to last forever. And when he calls her  hot instead of beautiful, she’ll learn to look at herself that way. She’ll indulge in the promises he makes. Promises he is much too young to keep. _

 

_          “And he will leave her one day. He will chew her up and spit her out leaving just a mess of tears and heartache that not even big brothers arms can soothe. He will leave her with songs she no longer likes to listen too. He’ll transform her back into the little girl whose legs are not strong enough to carry the weight of her. She’ll stumble when she walks, she’ll stand in front of the mirror and analyze herself through the perspective of a boy she thinks matters. _

 

_ “But I will tell her to smash that mirror, to stop looking for flaws because there are none. I will lend her my strength to carry and support her. I will tell her of the little girl swaddled in pink and the first signs of baby teeth. About the little girl who flourished and blossomed into something spectacular right before my eyes. About abstract art and dreams and the vision of beauty that she has become. I’ll show her that it doesn’t matter what one teenage boy thought because her big brother knows she is beautiful. _

 

_           “God help the first boy who tells my little sister she isn’t beautiful.”  _

 

Louis released his grip on the mic and took a step back, exactly as Mary had before him, and Harry assumed that was a way to show you were done and welcome the applause. Because at that moment the whole place went up in roars, people cheering, others dabbing their eyes, some giving standing ovations. Harry just sat, watching Louis, as he smiled at the scene, radiating happiness and confidence. There was nothing more attractive. 

 

             “Thank you, all,” he grinned with a glow. “I’ve actually got a second poem to share tonight, one that’s quite personal to me. I’m just going to grab a drink of water first.” He stepped down off the stage and Harry studied his movements all the way until he disappeared and couldn’t see him any longer. He let his focus revert back to Amy only to realize that hers was somewhere else, smiling and beckoning someone over from across the room.

 

            The girl Harry had seen behind the bar earlier was walking towards their table, her face bubbling with happiness as her eyes locked with Amy’s. “Hey, Ames,” She said when she reached them. “And you must be Harry, Amy told me she was hoping you’d come along. Though I’ll admit, I recognize your face anyway. Even with the half ass disguise.”

 

            “That would be me,” Harry laughs with a nod, hand raising self consciously to his beanie. “I haven’t caught your name though?” 

 

              “Oh right, I’m Eleanor! Call me El, though. I work the bar.” She smiled brightly.

 

###  “El is my fiancee,” Amy said with a proud smile, reaching her hand out to slip it through Eleanor’s. Harry blinked at them in general shock and confusion.

  
  


                  “Seriously? But... Oh, I just... I thought um, Louis was your fiancee?” Harry asked, scratching at the back of his head awkwardly. 

 

                  Both girls broke out into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, simultaneously. When they stopped Amy gave him a completely blank look. “You thought I was engaged to Lou? That’s priceless - just wait until I tell him that.” 

 

                 “Um... Maybe you don’t do that?” He asked meekly, wincing slightly out of embarrassment. “But I mean, congratulations, honestly I think that is so awesome.”

 

                Eleanor smiled again. “Thank you, Harry. Don’t worry, someday you’ll find it. They can’t own you forever.” 

 

               Harry narrowed his eyes at Amy and she shrugged. “Contracts don’t count on your soon to be wife, duh.” Eleanor giggled at her words, beaming like a kid on Christmas. Harry was really,  _ really  _ happy for them. 

 

               “Soooo,” Louis voice drawled, loud and perfect, signaling everyones attention back up to the stage. “This poem, like I said, is very personal to me. It’s something that took me a lot of time to get over, even longer to be in a place where I could even write about it. But I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather share it first, so here it is, my whirlwind romance with who I thought was Mr. Right.” 

 

               Harry’s eyebrows shot up so quickly, jaw falling slack again like the first time Louis had taken the stage.  _ Mr. Right _ ? Eleanor and Amy were giving him amused looks and he quickly tried to compose himself as Louis began to speak.

 

“ _ You and I, that’s what you told me _ .”  His voice was softer than the first poem, face contorted with the presence of emotions. It was a beautiful contrast to the fiery performance he’d previously delivered.  “ _ I believed you every time - why wouldn’t I when you used words like  forever  and  perfect and  love.  I tucked those words into my pockets, deep into my soul, saving them. You showered me with kisses and compliments, and I fell for every line, tucking those away into the corners of my heart.  _

 

            “ _ But I should have looked between those lines - searched beyond words like  _ beautiful  _ and  _ lovely.  _ Words you used to describe me the night before - but never in the morning. I should have ignored the way your lips moved - forming lies and promises - and focused on your eyes. Beyond the depth of their blue to the truth they held. The truth that you were scared and this was something new - and I was there, always there, with sealed lips to hold secrets and hands to touch with.  _

 

_              “You’re still beautiful, always beautiful. Maybe you were scared, maybe you never wanted me at all but the light still shone on your face in a way that made me believe heaven wasn’t so far away. And I fell, fell, fell. Deeply without a guard. I tucked you into all of my pockets, into my soul and the corners of my heart, believing that I could keep you pressed against me forever. I let myself love you for who you were. Or who I thought you were . _

 

              “ _ Maybe you’re still beautiful and maybe the light still shines on your face - but you’re also a fucking asshole. Because you were the first person to show me my worth, and then the first person to strip it all away. To throw me away like a used condom. No appreciation for the pleasure, just a messy reminder of a night you’d rather ignore. A person to cast aside until you were lonely and drunk again. _

 

_             “I get it - you were scared and everything was different and I was there. It was hard on you, your parents didn’t approve. I would have never hurt you _ . 

 

           “ _ Because I used words like  _ beautiful _ and  _ lovely  _ first thing in the morning, when you had just woken up and your hair was a mess and you needed to hear it the most. I didn’t spew promises like  love  and  forever  when your hand was on my zipper. My mouth was not a tool to form lies - I always said these things with my eyes. With my heart. But you didn’t tuck those words into your pockets, or me into the corner of your heart. You let it bounce off your shield, not meaning a thing, even when I showed you love. Even when I showed you what it was like to be treated right. _

 

_             “ You and I, you told me. And I believed you every time _ .” 

 

He stood still even after he finished speaking, gaze cast downward onto the stage. Harry wanted to run up to him and hug him, make any trace of sadness disappear so he could see the way his cheeks lifted with his smile again. 

 

             "Thanks," he whispered before giving a fake cheery grin and heading towards the rickety staircase off to the side. 

 

                Harry wanted to hug him, make him laugh until the crinkly eyed smile was back and never see such a beautiful face contorted in pain. But that was crazy... So he simply watched Louis dart across the room. 

 

              "I should get back to the bar," Eleanor said while pulling her long hair from one side of her shoulder to the other. She and Amy remained a steady eye contact, matching smiles on their faces, and if was so soft and beautiful that Harry felt like he was intruding on something special. The fondness they had for each other was something Harry wanted for himself. Something he couldn't have. Not with a boy anyway. 

 

             "I'll come with you, I'm going to find Lou so I can introduce him to Harry!" Amy babbled excitedly, giving Harry an expectant look, as if he should be just as excited. She stood up from the table, being led away by Eleanor's hand through her own. Harry remained seated, his stomach tossing nervously at the thought of being introduced to Louis. 

 

            It was ridiculous - Harry had met most of the worlds biggest celebrities, even the Queen once. This random boy shouldn't make him so on edge, but for some reason his palms were sweating, causing his jeans to dampen from where they pressed against the fabric. Maybe it was because Louis was so bold and seemingly proud of who he was. He used his voice to express  _ him _ .  What would he think of pathetic little Harry, still hiding in the very back corner of the closet, afraid his personal preferences would offend some stinkin' parents. 

 

Louis would think he was a coward. 

 

             Harry could see him across the room, Amy and Eleanor just arriving. Someone must have said something funny because he laughed loudly, his head hanging back and eyes closing. Then he pulled Eleanor into a tight hug. 

 

            Harry didn't even really think about the decision, just suddenly bolted upright and hurried for the exit, not bothering to look over his shoulder and check if anyone had noticed his abrupt departure. Amy would probably be livid at him, but what did that matter anyway? He hardly fucking knew her and she worked for him, basically. 

 

The night air hit him instantly, biting at his exposed skin. He pulled his jacket tighter around and adjusted his beanie while debating whether the sunglasses were necessary. He realized, as he walked down the sidewalk, that he really had no idea how to get home - and it was going to be such a long walk. Risking exposure was not a good idea either, so at the first bus shelter he hopped in and dug out his mobile. 

 

            He held the damn thing before his face for a solid two minutes, scrolling aimlessly through the contacts and wondering who he should call. Eventually he settled on Liam, the closest thing Harry had to a best friend. They had both been competitors on the X Factor and through that experience they became close. But Liam had never quite managed to reach international stardom like Harry, still singing and touring around the UK. 

 

            "Harry, mate, what's up?" Liam's cheery voice answered after the third ring and the sound instantly made Harry's entire body melt with relief. 

 

            "I, ehm, need a favor if you don't mind? I kind of buggered off without security and am worried about getting home without being noticed. Think you could pick me up?" 

 

            "Yeah, yeah, of  course, H. Let me just..." There was some rustling sounds in the background and then a female voice. "I'll go let Danielle know and be right there, yeah? Where are you?" 

 

            Harry offered the street name and basic whereabouts, feeling like uttershit for ruining Liam's date with his girlfriend. After hanging up the phone he leaned back against the glass panel and closed his eyes, enjoying the quiet of the dark street surrounding him. 

 

            Liam, bless him, arrived within 15 minutes, even though Harry knew it was probably twenty minutes from his house or more. Liam was someone who always stuck to the rules, only bending them for his friends. Harry was forever grateful to have someone like Liam in his life. 

 

             "How did you get here? You don't have your car?" Liam asked, squinting at Harry through the open passenger side window. 

 

            "No, I got a drive with a girl from work..." He mumbled, leaving the bus shelter. He gave one last glance down the street, far in the distance he could make out the lights of the Brixton and surrounding pubs. "Sorry to ruin your date," he added softly while sliding into the passenger seat. 

 

            Liam gave a simple shrug, smile on his face. "No worries, mate. You know I'd never leave you stranded. So this girl...." Liam quirked an eyebrow. To anyone else it would sound like Liam was asking if he were interested in her. But Liam knew the truth, right to the very core. 

 

          "No, no. She just works for Modest - said the poetry might help my song writing." 

 

            "Good." Liam nodded, gaze returning straight to the road ahead of him. "So how are things, anyway? Feels like we haven't chatted in ages."

 

             "I'm -" Harry began, but the word fine got choked back and he exhaled a low hiss of breath. "Everything is a mess, honestly, Li. Do you ever, I don't know, wish you could go back and not even go to your audition?" 

 

               Liam looked thoughtful for a second, eyes squinted ahead at the trees illuminated by his headlights. "No, I don't think I do," he murmured. "I mean, looking back if I hadn't auditioned, my life would be so different. For one, I would have never met Dani. But our stories turned out much different, Harry, so I can see how  _ you  _ would feel that way some days."

 

              "Yeah," Harry whispered, voice coloured with the tears he didn't want Liam to know existed. Liam was  _ right _ ,  the way things had turned out - there were so many reasons for him to want to go back and change the past. And sure, there were lots of little things that made him love what he did. But he didn't have one  _ big thing _ \-  the type of thing that mattered most, that changed everything. Liam had found it with Danielle. But Harry wasn't allowed to even look. Maybe though, if he had never went onto the X Factor, he would have. 

 

              Liam was quiet in response, because he had this incredible ability to sense what a person needed from him in any given situation. Harry was so thankful because he didn't want to explain why he was suddenly asking these things. 

 

            He simply leaned back against the headrest and let his eyes lull shut. When he did he saw Louis - standing on the stage with the glaring spotlight, moist lips practically kissing the microphone. 

 

             Louis was everything that Harry wasn't - everything he wanted to change himself into. Confident, bold, unafraid to be himself. Not to mention the fact that he was a bloody fantastic writer, which Harry had just been told he apparently sucked at. 

 

               He was a coward, too. A fucking coward because he should have stayed at the club and let Amy lead Louis back to their table. He should have charmed the pants off the older lad - because Harry had been told all of his life how bloody  _ charming  _ he was. He should have done anything except run away, really. 

 

             Harry was still thinking of the delicate curve of Louis' hips in his tight tshirt when he fell back against the pile of pillows at the top of his bed and closed his eyes. He fell asleep quickly, mind tired with racing thoughts of the tanned skin that shimmered like gold under the spotlight and just begged to be touched. 

 

***

 

Harry tried really hard the next morning to write some new songs. He had even set his alarm clock for  super  early and everything. 

 

             But it had been twelve hours and all he had accomplished was making a mound of paper balls big enough to have a mock snowball fight, a long afternoon nap, and a forty five minute weepy call to his mother

 

             Everything he wrote was  crap.  It was a contrast of being told his songs sucked, and now having the words of stupid  _ Louis Tomlinson  _ to compare himself too. 

 

            It was an impulse decision, really. Kind of a reckless and stupid one that lead him down a dark road, squinting at road signs and checking back to his GPS every second. The drive had seemed much quicker in Amy's tiny car. But she knew the route, so. 

 

               He had woken up with a text message from her - saying that she was disappointed that he left. She was going out of town with Eleanor for two weeks and that they would talk when she got back. 

 

              He was glad she didn't seem too mad - she and Eleanor really were  _ lovely  _ people, and it would be good for Harry to have some new friends who didn't think he was a, well,  _ slut _ . Like the rest of the world seemed to want to pin him as. 

 

                Eventually he did arrive - he caught sight of the half illuminated sign and let out a long sigh of relief. He had just had to go in a few circles first, but he was there. 

 

             It was of course risky going out in London, completely alone. He wore his black beanie and dark sunglasses again, as well as a simple black tshirt and his too tight skinny jeans. He had even taken his friends car - a beat up old thing, deciding to leave his precious ones at home for theirs and his safety. 

 

             He grabbed his seat at the back again, tucking himself into the very corner of the booth and hugged his arms around his stomach. It was a weird life, being afraid of being seen all the time. He spent his life either being directly in the spotlight, or cowering in the background. He liked the fans and taking photos with them. He especially likes making them happy - it's always been the type of person he is. Seeing them tweet that getting to meet him made their day made him feel good. But he didn't like the newspaper headlines or front page magazine titles. He didn't like the way they talked about him, try to link him with anyone wearing a skirt in a five mile radius. Sometimes it's just easier not to be seen at all. He's not sure when he decided he liked blending in the background more, he was always a proper show off at heart from the time he was young. 

 

              Maybe the spotlight shone so brightly he lost sight of himself underneath it. 

 

                His spiral of loathing thoughts were interrupted when a girl took the stage - and he instantly recognized her as Mary, the girl with the poem about being overweight and beautiful. He was excited to see her, sitting up a little straighter. 

 

                 "Hey, guys. I've just got a new little fun poem I wrote - but I guess the message is still pretty strong. It's just about not caring, and loving who you are. So for anyone out there who's not in that place yet, trust me I understand. It may take time but you can get there, darlings. Just be proud and be you." She beamed, and Harry noted that she had the prettiest smile. "So here goes, this one is called  _ Secrets _ ." 

 

                " _ I've got bipolar disorder. My shits not in order. I'm overweight. I'm always late. I've got too many things to say. I rock mom jeans, cat earrings. Extrapolate my feelings. My family is dysfunctional but we have a good time killing each other _ ."  She laughed a little, shaking her head. She looked like she was having  fun.  Harry certainly was watching her. 

 

              " _ They tell us from the time we're young, to hide the things that we don't like about ourselves. Inside ourselves. I know I'm not the only one who spent so long trying to be someone else. Well I'm over it. _

 

              " _ I don't care if the world knows what my secrets are - so what. So what, so  what.  So-o-oo what ! _ " She dragged the word out, bopping her shoulders back and forth with the rhythm of it. 

 

" _ I can't think straight, I'm so gay. Sometimes I cry the whole day. I care a lot, use a analog clock, and never know when to stop. I'm passive aggressive, scared of the dark and the dentist. I love my butt and won't shut up _ "  She reached around and gave her ass a gentle slap, with a cheeky unapologetic smile.  " _ And I never really grew up _ ." 

              " _ They tell us from the time we're young, to hide the things that we don't like about ourselves. Inside ourselves. I know I'm not the only one who spent so long trying to be someone else. Well I'm over it . _

              " _ I don't care if the world knows what my secrets are - so what. So what, so  what.  So-o-oo what! _

 

" _ So what _ ?"  Mary stopped for a moment but didn't make any move to step away from the microphone, just stood beaming as everyone began to applaud and holler for her. After a moment she opened her mouth to speak against and there was a gentle hush of the crowd. "Thank you, guys. I think this may be one of my favorite poems yet and I'm so happy to share it all with you. I owe this place so much, I owe all the confidence and happiness that I've been able to find within myself to these four walls and the people the hold here. I love you all so much, thank you for helping me love  _ myself _ ." 

 

Harry had seen a lot of big names in concerts - heck, a lot of them he would call his friends. But he wasn't sure that he ever cheered so loudly as he did in that moment, standing with the crowd and joining in their pride of a girl who just shared all her little secrets and didn't seem even a little scared about it. Harry admired her, and he loved the poem. 

 

                It was an impulse decision, but he took out his cellphone me opened the twitter app. He didn't think twice as he plugged in the letters, spelling out the tweet " _ scared of the dark and the dentist . _ " He then quickly closed it, not wanting to see the replies he gets. He's sure over half with say something about looking for a follow back, anyway. 

 

             After Mary left the stage there were a few quiet moments and Harry just looked around, enjoying being in the background and not at the center of everything. And, well, if he was subconsciously looking for Louis, then whatever. 

 

              He was reading a text message from his older sister, Gemma (making fun of him for still being afraid of the dark) when the quiet room began to stir again. He looked up to see Louis taking the stage again, and a bright smile took over his face. 

 

             "Haven't got anything new, I'm afraid," Louis grinned apologetically from behind the mic. He pushed a hand back, raking it through his hair backwards into a messy quiff. His smile was a little sheepish. "However I'm far too vain to sit here and not get up and hear myself speak," he paused as the people laughed. Harry couldn't help but note the hit of pride that broke upon Louis' face, sending a smile all the way up to crinkle his eyes. 

 

              He cleared his throat again, the sound echoing and bouncing off the walls around them. "So here's an old poem - when I say old, I mean I was like nineteen when I wrote it. It was the first poem I ever had the nerve to stand up and perform. It's a bit shaky and rough 'round the edges, but I couldn't find it in myself to touch it up. It's real, for me. So I like it just the way it is. Hope all you newcomers do, too." 

 

               Harry sucked his cheek into his mouth and chewed on it slightly. Louis hadn't even started and he liked it already. Hell, he could probably pull out a phone book and start reading it and Harry wouldn't budge from his seat. 

 

               " I grew up thinking that boys fall in love with girls ,"  Louis started off and with one line Harry had already inhaled a shaky breath. "My step dad loved my mom, pop loved nan. The men in the movies loved women and talked about trying to get them into bed. I grew up in a small town where boys fell in love with girls. That's all I'd ever seen, it was all that made sense to me .

 

_  So when I got to be seventeen, I thought I ought to fall in love now. And there was this girl. She was beautiful and made me laugh. All my friends had crushes or girlfriends. I figured it was my turn too. So when she kissed me I kissed back. It was nice. _ "  Louis paused, pursing his lips, and Harry watched with wide eyes, feeling like maybe Louis was reading from his own personal memory. 

 

" _ Or, I guess it was. I didn't know. I'd never kissed anyone before. How was I supposed to feel? All my friends liked kissing. Men in movies liked kissing. I decided I liked kissing. I kissed her again. I kissed her for a year _ ." 

 

                Harry remembered the feeling. His first girlfriend - it hadn't lasted very long, he was only fifteen, but.... The wondering, was this how it was supposed to feel? He had told himself of course he liked kissing girls. 

 

" _ She talked about it, sex. She wanted too. All my friends wanted too or had done it. Maybe there was something wrong with me? Maybe my body was my functioning properly? I was a teenage boy. I was supposed to be horny! The boys in the locker room wanted it. I was supposed to want it _ ."  His voice had become frantic, like he was still that boy wondering if he was the problem. Then he closed his eyes, shook his head, and the next line was barely above a whisper.  " _ I wasn't supposed to look at the boys in the locker room _ ." 

 

                 "Boys fell in love with girls! Boys fell in love with girls. Boys fell in love with ." His voice had reached desperation, and Harry was convince he should win an Oscar for his ability to act, to transition himself back to the place where he wrote this poem from. " __

 

               " _I kept kissing her. Kept telling her I loved her. Kept pretending that I looked at her with dark eyes, filled with lust and attraction. Kept lying to her. Kept lying to_ _ myself.  Kept hurting us both.  _

 

_              "Boys fell in love with girls. Boys fell in love with beautiful girls who made them laugh. So why wasn't I in love with her, yet?  _

 

_               "Then He came along. He with short floppy hair and a muscular back. He with no boobs, no gross lip gloss. He with rougher hands and rougher lips. He with blue eyes that sparkled and a smile that could brighten up even the darkest of nights.  _

 

              " _Boys don't always fall in love with girls. For once it made sense to me_." 

 

              Harry remained still for a moment, hands gripping the edge of the table. He didn't want the poem to be over, he wanted to keep listening to Louis' melodic voice recounting what felt like his very own teen years. It was weird but he felt oddly close to Louis, despite the fact that he'd never spoken to him before. 

 

             It had been so  moving . Harry literally could feel big fat tears welling in the lids of his eyes, threatening to spill over. There was this overwhelming sense of urgency coming over him, telling him to rush towards the edge of the stage and just tell Louis how lovely the poem was, how much he needed to hear it back when he was fifteen. 

 

             And he probably should have. But he was a coward so he slid out of the booth bench, pulled his collar tighter around his face, and snuck out the door without making eye contact with anyone.

 

*****

 

Harry went back to the poetry club the next night. And the night after that. Sometimes Louis preformed, and Harry would sit on the edge of his seat in the back corner, completely in awe of his words and his voice and his beauty. Other nights Louis wouldn't ever get on the stage, but Harry would still spend more time watching him, not really listening to the performer. He felt bad but for some reason his eyes just drifted to Louis on their own doing. He couldn't  help  it. 

 

             On his sixth trip to The Brixton, Harry listened as Louis spoke about his sisters again on stage, beaming his bright smile the entire way through. Like he usually did, Harry stood up the moment Louis left the stage, ready to sneak out before anyone could bring attention to him. 

 

              Louis usually disappeared behind the bar after he finished, but tonight, he cut right across the room, just a few feet from where Harry was awkwardly standing. He had no idea where it came from, but a swirling sense of confidence erupted in his belly and he took a few quick strides across the room to meet Louis. 

 

             "I need your help," Harry blurted awkwardly to his back, reaching out for Louis before he continued to walk away. 

 

              Louis turned with eyebrows raised all the way up his forehead, probably wondering who this random kid was, stopping him out of nowhere. His eyes scanned up and down his beanpole body and Harry felt like shrinking under the magnitude of their blue. "And I need a million dollars, guess we're both shit out of luck, mate." 

 

              Harry blinked at him for a second, wondering if he knew who he was. Perhaps he really meant that he wanted that kind of money to help Harry. He surely  had  it, but he was smarter than to give it to some stranger. 

 

              "Please... Louis, I-"

 

               Louis cut him off with a scoffed laugh and shake of his head. "Look, I don't even  _ know  _ you, yeah? Why do you think I'm going to help you?" 

 

               Harry's mouth popped opened but Louis was right. He didn't even have a response. "You're right.... You don't know me. Ehm, I'm-" 

 

              "I know  _ of  _ you." Louis cut him off with a roll of his eyes.  Right,  of course he did. "You've been tucked away in the back all week." 

 

               A flaming blush took over his cheeks and Harry stared down at the floor uncomfortably, wishing he could hide under the creaky wooden boards and just get out of this conversation. He really hadn't thought anyone, especially Louis would have noticed him. 

 

               "You came with Amy, once. Eleanor told me about you." 

 

               Harry's head popped up at Louis' words and he searched his face for a second. Maybe he didn't  _recognize_ Harry though, maybe he only meant he knew him because of Eleanor. He hoped for a second that it were true. 

 

               Louis let out a small laugh, amused look on his face. "What did you think wearing all black would make you invisible? I'm not blind, Harry. Actually quite good at picking out fit lads in a room. It’s a speciality of mine." 

 

              Harry bit down on his tongue, brows furrowing. Could that be considered Louis flirting with him? His stomach was stupidly flipping over the word  _fit_ \-  he was called attractive by fans and the media all the time. But if was different from a _boy_ \- from Louis, nonetheless. But he wasn't allowed to flirt back, if that's what Louis was trying. Because Harry had to act  straight. 

 

               Louis was still smiling at him, but it felt more teasing than friendly or anything else. "Alright, well, goodbye, Harry. Lovely to meet you and all but I've got places to be." 

 

              "No!" Harry lunged frantically, his hand landing a grip on Louis' bicep so he wouldn't go anywhere. Louis looked down at it with pursed lips, like he was deciding whether or not to be angry. He didn't say anything though, so Harry just removed his hand and kept speaking. "Please.... Just, I need help writing, alright?" 

 

               "Ah, struggling poet? Why didn't you  _say_ so?" Louis asked flatly, no indication that he was going to help at all. 

 

              “I’m not a poet... I’m actually-”

 

              “I  _ know _ ,” Louis silenced him once again, and Harry was starting to feel a pattern here. “I’ve got four younger sisters, I know who you are. I don’t write songs, alright? Now seriously, I have places to go, yeah?” He motioned for Harry to step aside. 

 

               "Please... Help me write my songs. Or else I'm going to wind up singing about girls with _daddy dentists_ or-" he paused, teeth sinking into his lower lip, realizing he was making zero sense. "Just... I don't want their songs anymore. They're awful. Please help me." 

 

              Louis' face softened, his smirk fading into a gentle smile. "Look, Harry, innit?" He waited for a nod then continued. "Harry, I don't know shit about writing songs. I'm a poet - music is not my thing." 

 

              "But words are your things, yeah? I know music and I know what i want to say but my ideas get all tangled up and they come out sounding-" 

 

               "Rambled?" Louis snickered, tilting his head to the left as his eyes continued to study Harry's face. People stared at him all day long - snapping pictures and studying his every breath. He was used to that, but standing before Louis, having his eyes focused on his face, he felt scared. It was different - like somebody was actually seeing him for once.

 

               "Tomorrow night, alright? I close down at eleven so, stop by. Hang out and we'll talk. No promises. But you owe me massive, got it?" He pushed past Harry, not even waiting for a response. But Harry just stood there, stupidly smiling after him. 

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr is loumymind - hope you enjoy this, let me know what you think :) (aiming for ~50k)


End file.
